


dangerous

by Hugabug



Category: Smaller and Smaller Circles (2017), Smaller and Smaller Circles - F.H. Batacan
Genre: Empath, Gen, Give Father Jerome A Hug 2k17, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 08:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12931875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hugabug/pseuds/Hugabug
Summary: She’s looking at him, her head tilted to the other side, in some desperate show of innocence– he sees right through it. He has from the start. But now, he realizes, she could see right through him, too.He holds back a shudder.





	dangerous

“Hello.”

The girl, Lydia, tilts her head– first to the left, then to the right. She does it in an exaggerated way, her neck practically bending itself in half, and she stares at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Jerome smiles at her, flatly. “Have you eaten?”

The question makes her giggle, girlish and child like. He laughs along with her, too, very quietly, and beneath the table they are both sat at, he thumbs at the hem fabric of his shirt.

“I have eaten, Father.” she says, sweetly, with a dimpled smile. Her hair, long and black and thin, is pulled away from her face in a tight ponytail, so he sees in great detail the roundness of her cheeks. The bright twinkle in her eye. Every aspect of her is child like, and she bounces in her seat as she swings her legs back and forth in excitement.

“Did they feed you well?” he asks her. She nods, rapidly, giggling at her own silliness before tilting her head again, to one side.

“Will you visit again?” she inquires, her tone at half-beg. He smiles at her, sadly, and shakes his head.

“They’ll take care of you here, alright?” he tells her, very careful to keep his voice soft and gentle. When she pouts, ever the polite one, not willing to throw a tantrum, he shrugs. “It’s the rules here.”

“They think something’s wrong with me.”

Jerome pauses. After a moment, he nods.

“There’s something wrong with everyone.” he says, carefully. “But some people have better coping mechanisms while others don’t. It’s why there are people around to help.”

She grins. “Like priests?”

Jerome laughs, quietly, again. “Yes. Like priests.”

She’s frowning now, her smile falling off her face. Beneath the table, Jerome continues to fidget, and he waits for her to speak her mind.

After a minute or so, she’s pouting again. “Why can’t you take care of me, Father?”

“I don’t think I’m the best one for the job, is all.” he replies, shrugging again in a show of helplessness. “Sometimes, some people need more help. In your case, they think you’ll be better off here.”

“But why do you have to stay away?”

Jerome comes to a stop. There’s a twinkle of understanding in her eye, and he would laugh at her mature grasp of everything had the situation been anything but. She’s looking at him, her head tilted to the other side, in some desperate show of innocence– he sees right through it. He has from the start. But now, he realizes, she could see right through him, too.

He holds back a shudder.

“It’s part of your healing process.” he explains. Not a lie. A truth, but a careful one. He holds on to it. “Ok?”

She blinks, and is silent for a very long moment. Then; “Alright.”

No more is said after, and Jerome smiles at her one more time before getting up and leaving, the door closing behind him.

* * *

“She’s a messed up kid.”

Jerome nods, watching Saenz’s new lab assistant, Meggy, sew close the gaping wound on the latest victim’s throat. It was inflicted on them with the use of a crude pair of house scissors, and Jerome can feel their last moments, choking on blood running from their esophagus, vision going hazy as their first instinct to scream is overwhelmed with a vision of a child,  _their_  child, gazing coldly down at them, bloody scissors dripping gore from their hand.

At the age of six, little Lydia Pelaez was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia. At the age of seven, she was declared guilty of first degree man slaughter in front of the Philippine Supreme Court. At the age of eight, she sits, politely and patiently, in a whiter room in the Mandaluyong psychiatric ward, waiting for a release that will never come.

Jerome runs a hand over his face, then looks over at Marie Rose Pelaez resting, still and cold, upon one of the morgue’s metal slabs. “How much longer?” he asks, just for the sake of something to say.

Meggy finishes up her sewing and snips the thread. Jerome flinches at the sound.

“All done,” she announces, taking off her gloves with a flourish. “Father Gus signed the forms this afternoon, so they’re just waiting for yours.”

Jerome swallows and wills his hands to be steady as she hands him the files. He signs them, not really looking where his pen touches. He hands it back to her hastily, his vision blurring, and if Meggy notices the hitch in his breath, she says nothing.

“I’ll just clean these out front.” she tells him, picking up her implements and placing them in a sterile tray. He nods. “Sit tight, Father, I’ll be right back.”

When the door swings shut behind her, the  _click_  of the lock echoes throughout the room.

“I wish you’d been kinder,” he whispers, so quiet, he’s sure not even the dead can hear. Still, he leans forward in his chair and presses on. “I wish you’d actually paid attention. I wish Lydia meant more to you than just a responsibility.”

Jerome feels his eyes smart.

“It’s your fault,” he says, like a petulant child. “You did this to yourself.”

Marie Rose Pelaez says nothing, and the rosary around his neck burns.

**Author's Note:**

> In celebration of the [Smaller and Smaller Circles movie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gsy18f6VbI) premier today, I give you the first (and probably only) SASC fanfic I will ever write.


End file.
